


Just Brilliance

by propheticfire



Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Interlude, mentions of sickness, mood study, sort of fluff sort of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2020-06-28 14:53:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19814614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/propheticfire/pseuds/propheticfire
Summary: Green sits on the slope of a hill, watching the evening sun.





	Just Brilliance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [raemanzu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/raemanzu/gifts), [spica_tea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spica_tea/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Live To Fight Another Day](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1663136) by [raemanzu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/raemanzu/pseuds/raemanzu), [spica_tea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spica_tea/pseuds/spica_tea). 



> I was attempting to write something that evokes the mood or feeling of a place, and to do that I borrowed my favorite son from LtFAD, trooper Green. While this should not be taken as LtFAD canon, I did try to make it mostly canon-compliant with that verse. The setting is concurrent with LtFAD chapter 45.

In his mind, Green sits on the slope of a hill, watching the evening sun. It’s more of a mountain, really. The kind of soft, rolling mountains that are topped with trees. Wisps of misty cloud cling to their sides, outlining the distant peaks in a subtle haze. He had maybe read about this, one time, in one of his training courses on various planetary environments. He doesn’t remember now. But he sees the mountains stretch out before him, blending into the pale yellows and pinks of the horizon. The sun hangs just above the horizon line, a radiant golden disk, throwing the last of its warm light across the scattered clouds in the sky.

He feels that warmth on his face. It seeps into his skin, deeper, deeper, until it settles into his bones. It’s heavy, but in a gentle way. Like a steadying hand on his back. He almost leans into it. He wills it to fill him, to flow through him, to pool in the cracks and breaks of his being. He closes his eyes, and for a moment he becomes the light itself, no edges, no boundaries, no restrictions. Just brilliance.

A breeze blows, also warm and soft on his skin. It tosses his hair. The singing of birds floats to him on the wind, clear and bright. He doesn’t know what species it is, but he imagines it’s small and colorful. He can see their shadows in the distance, flitting through the air above the valley he overlooks. He was up there once, in the sky. For the briefest of moments, he flew too.

He shifts, stretching out his legs on the slope. The feeling is exquisite. He might even go as far as to say luxurious. His muscles are strong beneath his sun-drenched skin, moving with ease. The carpet of short grass and clover crushes beneath him as he moves, releasing a fragrant aroma. It smells fresh, wild. An earthy, spicy scent, with a hint of sweetness. Some sort of insect hops away, startled by his movement. It flies across the grass on short wings. He watches it settle on a nearby tree.

There’s a stillness around him, despite the breeze and the birdsong. Not the tense stillness of anticipation, nor the empty stillness of lethargy. A sort of present stillness. Peaceful. Comforting. The stillness of just being. He closes his eyes again, letting that presence envelop him. He’ll stay here forever, he thinks. It’s so beautiful.

A sudden jolt makes his eyes fly open. Darkness. There’s nothing but darkness. His chest constricts. He tries to move, but doesn’t get far before his limbs—his aching limbs—meet the confines of a small space. That’s right. He’s in a crate, on the way back to Tipoca City. A blanket of some sort is tucked around him, pulling at him, trapping heat. He struggles to free himself from it. His stomach twists. He can’t help when its contents crawl up his throat and spill out. He lies there, no energy left to even protest.

The time ticks by. How long has it been? It feels like forever. He shivers, even as he feels the sweat running down his forehead. Is anybody coming? Maybe… Maybe this time, nobody’s coming.

The sun, the grass, the birdsong and the breeze. He wants to go back there.

He closes his eyes again.


End file.
